I'm Not
by charleygirl
Summary: Watson is many things, but principally a doctor of medicine. Trouble is, he sometimes has to remind Holmes of that fact... Chewing Gum's meme!
1. mannequin

**I'm not normally one to jump on bandwagons, but this was irresistible. :)**

**I'M NOT...**

I stood there, trying to keep perfectly still and ignore the way that my nose had started to itch, as Holmes fluttered around me with clothing and make-up from his store of disguises.

He stood before me, frowning; one finger to his lips, and shook his head.

"What's the matter?" I asked, dreading the answer. We had been playing this game for nearly an hour now, and I was not best pleased at having been wheedled into cooperating.

"Well," he said, "If you must know, Watson, the moustache is bothering me somewhat. After all, Rodgers is clean-shaven, and - "

The implication was clear, and I was having none of it. "No, Holmes," I said firmly. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, Watson, be reasonable!" Holmes cried. "If Lestrade is to stand any chance of catching the man he must know what to look for!"

"Then show him a photograph!" I replied, adding in exasperation, "Damn it, Holmes! I'm a doctor, not a display mannequin!"


	2. seamstress

**This is addictive - I wrote three of these today! :)**

**Usual disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson do not belong to me in any way, shape or form.**

On returning home after a long surgery of patients with ailments directly related to the current cold snap, I was not best pleased upon entering the sitting room to find it without a fire and occupied by a rather agitated Sherlock Holmes.

"Watson! Thank goodness!" he exclaimed as he caught sight of me, leaping from his chair and practically snatching my bag from my hand. The table appeared to be covered by a new cloth, I noticed as he began to rifle through the gladstone's contents. A moment later, however, I had realised that one of the windows seemed strangely bare – I glanced around the room, and it did not take my friend's deductive skill to work out what had happened, especially given the long rent in the curtain fabric which now lay draped across the table, and the rapier that had been stuck point first into the coal scuttle.

Holmes was tipping out medicines and instruments from my bag onto the table, evidently looking for something. I managed to stop him before he turned the entire thing upside down and emptied out the contents.

"What in the world are you looking for?" I demanded.

"Needle and thread! If we can sew this up quickly, perhaps Mrs Hudson will not notice. Not until the spring, at least…my purse is not heavy enough at present to defray the cost of a new pair of curtains."

"Sew it up? All you will find in there is suture thread and surgical needles!" I exclaimed, not quite knowing whether to laugh or despair at the idea of stitching up curtains with medical equipment. If Mrs Hudson spotted it she would know immediately who was responsible, and spot it she would, given my lack of embroidery skill. I pulled the bag away, scooping up what I could of its contents and jamming them back where the belonged. Holmes looked at me in amazement.

"Watson, we must work quickly! I need thread!"

"Then may I suggest you take a walk down to the haberdashers' in Orchard Street?" I suggested, adding when the amazement turned to incomprehension, "Holmes, I am a doctor, not a seamstress!"


	3. long distance runner

**Disclaimer: I do not own Mr Holmes or the good Doctor, much as I would like to!**

* * *

"After him, Watson! He'll be headed for the castle!" Holmes yelled to me as a figure broke from the cover of the barn and pelted hell for leather up the road.

Automatically, I started to run after Monteagle, and then stopped, my brain belatedly taking charge. The castle was on the other side of the town, on top of the hill. Until then it was open country, and I had no light and no map. Monteagle knew the land well, his entire life spent in the area. I had no idea where I was going.

"Holmes, its fifteen miles!" I protested.

"Hardly a distance worth bothering about," he responded with worrying insouciance, without even glancing in my direction, still poking about in the straw. "Hurry, he's getting away!"

I stared at him in disbelief. "And what precisely will you be doing while I'm risking my life chasing a jewel thief and murderer?"

He lifted the lamp, and finally looked at me as though I were asking the most foolish question a man ever uttered. "Waiting here for his accomplices, of course. We need the whole gang."

I could barely believe what I was hearing. Holmes was younger, taller and fitter than me, and had no wounds gained on active service that plagued him at inopportune moments, and yet he was suggesting that I run fifteen miles across country after a man twenty years my junior, in the middle of November, in the dark!

"Blast it, Holmes," I shouted, goaded beyond belief by his attitude, "I'm a doctor, not a long-distance runner!"


	4. marie lloyd

**Glad you're all enjoying these! :)**

**Disclaimer: Much as I would like to own them, Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson do not belong to me.**

* * *

The audience was becoming restless, hungry for the evening's entertainment that had now been denied them. After a few minutes they began to boo and hiss, shaking their fists and surging towards the empty stage.

Holmes attempted to keep track of our quarry in the melee, but it was impossible; the crush of bodies was too great, and we were carried forwards with the sheer momentum.

"We must do something, Watson!" he yelled over the torrent of cat-calls. The noise was so great that I barely heard him.

"Quite. But what?" I shouted back.

He nodded meaningfully towards the stage. "They need a distraction! Do something to entertain them!"

That time I really did think I had misheard his words. I stared at the stage in horror, having a sudden vision of myself prancing about up there singing _Any Old Iron_.

"Absolutely not!" I exclaimed. "You're a musician – _you_ entertain them!"

But Holmes was already disappearing into the crowd. "Do you honestly think anyone in this crush would appreciate a little Bach or Beethoven?" he called to me. "I'm sure you'll think of something!"

"Holmes!" I yelled after him, seeing his tall form vanishing. "Holmes, come back! I'm a doctor, not Marie Lloyd!"


	5. plumber

**Inspired by a similar occurence at work yesterday.**

* * *

I became aware that something was not right when I spotted the water seeping out from under the sitting room door. Turning the handle, I stopped on the threshold as I took in the pool six inches deep spreading upon the carpet, and Holmes standing on a chair on the other side of the room, looking with some concern up at a hole in the ceiling that had not been there the previous evening.

"Good God!" I exclaimed. "Whatever has happened?"

"Ah. Good Morning, Watson. We appear to have sprung a leak," said he, glancing at me over his shoulder.

"I can see that." I glanced around, trying to spot a safe passage through the flood that would save the hems of my trousers. There was a small island by Holmes's chemical bench – I took a very long step, hanging onto the back of the sofa for support, and made it without overbalancing. "Do you know what caused it?"

"Based on some elementary deductions, I would say that it is due to the dripping tap in the bathroom. Water has built up somewhere in the pipes, and…" Holmes gestured to the miniature lake on the floor. "You can see the result."

"But when did it happen? I heard nothing in the night." Various papers that had fallen from his desk were floating towards me on the current caused by the water still running down the wall from the hole. The carpet was ruined, and if we did not stop the leak quickly there was a chance that the floor might give way.

"I would say some time in the early hours given the amount of water on the floor, and the fact that I awoke around five o'clock to see a river running under my bedroom door. It is most unfortunate that this has happened when Mrs Hudson is away."

I could agree up to a point – our landlady was most definitely not going to be pleased when she saw what had happened to her house in her absence, but it was _her_ house, and I had no idea where one turned off the water, never having needed the information before. "We need to find the stopcock," I said, attempting to be practical.

"This would never have happened if you had done something about that tap when I first mentioned it," Holmes groused, looking up at the hole again and getting a fat drop of water in his eye for his trouble. "You would keep putting it off."

"Me? You had equal opportunity to get it fixed! I had no idea such things were my responsibility," I said, nettled. "Blast it, Holmes; I'm a doctor, not a plumber!"

We glared at each other for a long moment, the silence broken only by the steady _plop plop plop_ of the dripping water.

"What should we do now?" Holmes asked eventually.

"Get a bucket," I said.

"To catch the drips?"

"No. To start bailing."


	6. fool

**Continued from #5, because I have flood water on the brain this week...**

* * *

"Bit of a mess you've got there, guv. Should have called me sooner."

I could not help but agree as I showed the plumber who had come to fix the faulty tap to the front door. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

He shrugged. "Not a problem. Next time check your washer – doesn't take much to replace 'em, but it saves you a lot of inconvenience."

"Really?" A memory was making itself known in the back of my mind. _A plumber with a rising business…_ "Could anyone do it?"

"Anyone with an elementary knowledge of plumbing, certainly." The man tipped his cap to me. "Morning, Doctor. Call me if there's any more trouble."

I thanked him again and began the climb back to the landing. Halfway up I stopped, retraced my steps and slipped into Mrs Hudson's sanctum on the ground floor. Tilly, the maid of all work, looked startled to see me, but was quite happy to provide the articles I requested, rather relieved when I explained the reason for the water still dripping through the ceiling.

Holmes, when I returned to the sitting room, was cross-legged in his armchair, water pooling around its legs. Blue rings of smoke from his cigarette rose towards the stained plaster above him in the corner. I put my burden on the floor just outside the door and entered the room, doing my best to hide the seething resentment that was building within me.

"The plumber has gone," I said. "We should have no more trouble."

He nodded; eyes closed, but said nothing.

"Apparently, anyone could have fixed it. Anyone who knew something about plumbing."

No response.

"_You_ know something about plumbing, Holmes. You pretended to be a plumber during that Milverton business."

"Did I? I really can't recall."

"I believe you also did some work at his house," I pressed. "To do that you must have at least an elementary knowledge of plumbing matters."

"Quite possibly. It was some time ago."

I waited for a moment, but he said no more. Seeing that there was no easy way I was going to get him to admit his carelessness, I reached behind me and deposited the items Tilly had found for me before his chair. Water sloshed over the hearth and into the fireplace, and my shoes were starting to leak somewhat as I stood there. The splash must have attracted Holmes's attention as he at last opened his eyes and regarded the things in confusion.

"What are those?"

"A mop and a bucket. Surely you could deduce that much?"

"Why are you giving them to me?"

I paddled my way back to the door and found my coat and hat on the stand. "Because I am going out, and there is a lot of cleaning up to do before Mrs Hudson gets back this evening."

"Watson!" He was half out of his chair before he remembered the water. As his feet touched the flood he leapt back like a scalded cat, crouching on the seat. "You can't leave me to clear this up on my own!"

"I can and I will. I'm a doctor, not a fool. Have fun." I gave him a cheery little wave as I put on my hat and shut the door.

His curses followed me down the stairs.


	7. candelabrum

**Runa93 requested more... :)**

* * *

It was dim in the little room, the moonlight barely filtering through the high barred window.

Holmes unrolled his lock picks, squinting at them and lifting the fabric on which they lay to try and angle the light so that he could see which one he needed. It was delicate work, and he could not afford to be wrong.

"Blast it, Watson; I can't make out a thing! Have you a match?"

I felt in my pocket and discovered a box with what sounded like two matches rattling about inside. Holmes practically snatched it from me, producing a dark lantern from somewhere within his coat and lighting the wick within. I soon found myself holding said lantern, being snapped at to move the light right and left as he required.

Eventually he sat back on his heels with a grunt of disgust. "It's no good. I still can't see. Where's that other match?"

I held it out to him and he lit a stub of candle which swiftly replaced the match in my hand. He found another stub, which he lit from the first, and then looked at me in consternation, perceiving that between the lantern and the first candle my hands were full. The only place in which I could conceivably hold another candle would be my mouth, and I could see from his expression that the idea had just struck him. I vehemently shook my head.

"No, Holmes. Put in on the table over there. I'm a doctor, not a candelabrum!"


	8. schoolmaster

**Missing scene/teaser/I'm not sure what exactly for my forthcoming fic _Jack In The Green_.**

* * *

I stared at the circle of small children seated on the floor, all looking up at me expectantly.

Holmes put on his hat and took up his stick. "I shall see you later, then, Watson. Do have a good afternoon."

"Holmes!" I caught hold of his arm as he reached the door. I had not been in a school room for nearly forty years, and then only as a pupil. Did children still learn the same things as I had all that time ago? I had absolutely no idea what Mr Edwards might have been teaching them. "Holmes, you can't just leave me! I'm a doctor, not a schoolmaster – what should I do?"

He paused on the threshold. "Teach them how to check the cat's temperature? Attempt a lecture upon the setting of a field vole's broken leg?" he suggested.

"Don't be flippant, Holmes. I am not a teacher!"

"Then give them a lesson on story-writing for _The Strand_. Who knows, you may just inspire a budding author to follow in your romantic footsteps." He gave me a wicked smile, tipped his panama to a rakish angle, and departed, leaving me with ten trusting little souls who were watching my every move with quite obvious fascination.

I stood there for some moments, my brain trying desperately to find a way out of this impossible situation in which I now found myself. Time seemed to pass uncomfortably slowly, until finally inspiration struck at exactly the same moment as the school room clock, and I knew how to occupy my charges and get my revenge upon my friend.

"Well," I said, clapping my hands together, "who would like to hear a story?"


End file.
